This Is Not Mine, But I Want It To Be
by ExellentlyEllen
Summary: This is not a redemption story, because in his world he doesn't need redemption, and he's not about to take on somebody else's guilt... (Repost from AO3) *rated M , just to be on the safe side*
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Agents of SHIELD, or any of it's characters. I'm just enjoying myself a little :)**

* * *

Grant wasn't the kind of man to wake up slowly. In fact, nothing he did could be described as _slow_. He wouldn't have still been alive if that were the case. He was a trained Specialist, and with that came lightning-fast reflexes and a better-than-average sense of self-preservation. Not to mention huge arms and some serious stamina. But that was neither here nor there.

So when he woke, it was with instant alertness. Even if, from the outside, you couldn't see the difference. It was the trick which had saved his life on more than one occasion. Keep your breathing level, don't make any sudden movements. Let the enemy lull himself into a false sense of security, then strike with the speed of a Cobra.

Playing possum also allowed Grant to take stock of his surroundings. Even better than his lightning reflexes and his sense of self-preservation, was his… let's call it his _sixth sense_. Even with his eyes closed, he would get a _feeling_ about the space around him, the number of people and their approximate position.

And right now… _nothing._ No slight shuffle of feet, no muffled whispers, not even breathing. There was nobody around, not for quite some distance. Tentatively, he tried to move his hand, and was again surprised when he met no resistance. He was unbound, not gaged and not in any other way incapacitated. Which was… _weird_.

Grant tried to think back to the last thing he remembered. Fighting, and loosing and then a loud bang and a shock. After that, nothing but blank space until he woke up. But something must have happened, because there was no way he would be left breathing if his opponent had had anything to say about it. After all, in their world there was no such thing as 'winner is left standing'. No, with the business Grant was in, it was kill or be killed. And Grant was sure he had been on the 'be killed' end of the spectrum this time.

Finally, he opened his eyes. He was in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. By the smell of it, near water. There was some trash in the corner, packing boxes and other bits and pieces. And something that maybe once had been an old packing machine, but was now just a pile of rust and bolts in the center of the building. Off to the right there was a door, probably leading to the inner office and in front of Grant there were big double hangar doors. The whole place oozed neglect and ungraceful ageing.

He got up, fast despite his obvious injuries, and tested all his extremities. No fractures on any of his limbs but probably a sprained ankle. His chest had the telltale dull ache that always accompanied busted ribs and his left eye was starting to welt over, thanks to a well-placed punch to the face. His jaw also felt sore and he was sure his face more resembled minced meat than actual human features. Given the beating he'd been taking before the _event,_ or whatever, happened, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. He checked his right ankle and was relieved to find he still had his knife.

He knew he should report back to base, make sure everybody was informed of what had happened. As far as he knew himself, that is. Somebody at Headquarters might be able to make sense of the goings on of the past… . He looked down at his watch, and frowned. It had stopped ticking, probably around the time he got shocked into oblivion. But judging by the minimal light that came through the high windows in the warehouse, it was either dusk or dawn. That meant he'd been out for anywhere between 5 and 17 hours.

He moved around the space a little, trying to get his bearings. It didn't feel like he was in Dallas. There was no dryness in the atmosphere, like you would expect there to be in Texas. Instead, the slightly musty and dusty air was heavy with moisture and cold. It felt more like, New York in the Fall. He checked the inner office, looking for anything that could clue him in to where he was. And how he got there in the first place.

Unfortunately the office was as empty as the main hangar had been. Just a dusty old desk with an empty bottle of vodka and an overturned chair with the stuffing bulging out. Not a single piece of paper in sight. No TV or phone, not even a pencil graced the dreary looking room. If the main room had been ageing ungracefully, this room had just up and thrown the towel in. There were damp spots in every corner and some animal, probably a rat, had made a nice little nest of chair-stuffing and dust.

He went back out into the main room and closed his eyes again. Clearing his head of all the questions, he took a deep breath and flung out his senses. No people around for at least several blocks. Some more rats in the walls, and what he figured was a bird's nest in the rafters. He opened his eyes again and peered at the windows high above the factory floor. Given the estimated time it was, it made sense there were few people around.

Slightly limping towards the hangar doors, he was relieved to notice there was just a latch holding it closed. He pushed it open and breathed in some dustless air, before starting to cough. Dustless it might have been, fresh wasn't something he'd use to describe it. The coughing hurt like an SOB though and it took Grant a few moments to regain his focus.

There was nothing familiar about the lot he was on. There were more warehouses on either side of the one he woke up in, and across the way he could see more looming in the darkness. The smell of dank water was even more palpable outside, which made Grant think he was probably in a more deserted part of a harbor. In what city? Not a single clue, if it hadn't been for the faded signs with English writing, he wouldn't even have been sure he was still in the US.

In the distance he could make out several skyscrapers, but none that looked like anything he'd seen before. Deciding that getting back into civilization was the first part of getting back to base, he started walking. All roads led somewhere after all. And once he was back in the land of the living, he could make contact with his people and hopefully go home. And recuperate, until he could start hunting again.

He walked on auto-pilot, going over the events of the past – however long it was – to find a clue to what had happened. They'd gotten intel that their target was holed up in a rundown apartment near the city center of Dallas. The information had come from a freelance agent they'd used before. Grant trusted Richie, not because he was such a stand-up guy or even an honest one, but because Richie's need for justice was almost equal to that of Grant himself. But even though he trusted the intel that Richie had provided, it was basically just a location. No more details about the security, the number of enemies, the kinds of weapons.

Thinking back, Grant had to admit to himself that his decision to go in blind was the wrong one. Actually, he'd known it all along, but just the thought of finally catching _him_ , after all this time had been too big a seduction. His people had tried to reason with him, telling him to wait until they had more information. Almost begging him to think before acting. But he'd been stubborn, he'd wanted justice… or revenge. After all, it had been _him_ who'd killed the one person Grant was desperate to protect. It had been _him_ who'd shattered Grant's world with one lousy bullet.

His people had been right. Grant had been an idiot, blinded by the need to avenge the woman he loved so much more than his own life. If only he'd listened, or used his senses before going in, things might have turned out different. It was only seconds after Grant's team had entered the building that every single one of them had gone down. All of them, dead. Except Grant. He'd fought with all his might, but he'd been no match against all of _them_. And in that moment, Grant remembers making peace with his end. He'd been on the ground, his gun long since lost, waiting for _him_ to deal the final blow. To _finally_ put Grant out of his misery. To reunite him with the one he lost. He'd found that thought more peaceful than any of the generic sympathies he'd gotten after _she_ died.

Then the ground shook and there was that loud noise, almost like a thunderclap, only much longer. And then the shock. Like being struck by lightning, but without the... you know, dying part. And then he woke up in the warehouse.

He only noticed the weirdness around him, because of the sudden noise behind him. The streets, although not _clean_ in any sense of the word, looked less… desolate than any of the cities he'd been in in recent months. There was trash on the sidewalks, empty pizza boxes, faded and rain-soaked newspapers, a McDonald's drink. There was graffiti on the walls of the buildings, but not propaganda. Just silly drawings of high-school gang wannabees, and the occasional piece of street art. It reminded him of his city… _before_.

His attention shifted again by another sound behind him. He was being followed, and if he hadn't been so in his head about all the weirdness going on, he would have caught on sooner. He cocked his head, closed his eyes, and _felt_. 4 no, 5 bodies, all at least a foot shorter than him. One with a gun, the rest with blunt objects. He was really not in the mood to get into it with some street kids, but they seemed determined to stay on his tail.

Grant ducked down, pulled his knife from his ankle holster and turned.

"You guys really don't want to mess with me today. I've been having a really bad one, and I'd hate to take it out on you. So how 'bout we just call this off and each go our separate ways?" He called to the guys.

His eyes widened just a fraction when they stepped into the light of the lamppost nearest to them. They were not what Grand had expected. These kids were probably about 16 or 17, jeans with the crotch hanging somewhere in the vicinity of their knees, oversized black sweatshirts and open zip-up hoodies. Their heads partially hidden under wool caps.

They were definitely not the gang kids he was expecting. They didn't seem to belong with the only gang that was still around these days. They had no IH logo's anywhere, and their outfits were dark blue and black and not the telltale crimson of the IH gangs. These kids almost looked like they belonged to one of the street gangs that were around in every major city before the IH rounded them all up. That could only mean one of 2 things. Either these kids had lost their minds and were trying to go against the IH, in which case it would end badly no matter what Grant did. Or they were sent by the IH to mess with Grant's head. Either way, nothing good could come out of this little pow-wow.

"Sorry old man, but you don't walk through our neighborhood without paying. So why don't you just lie down and bleed already, and save us the trouble." The five-some started sniggering at the stupid joke and spread out a little, trying to surround Grant. Their fighting was uncoordinated and sloppy, dropping their defense and losing their footing with big lunges. Definitely no IH training. Grant sidestepped them so easily it was almost comical. He took the first down with an elbow in the stomach and then one on the top of his head. The second got a booted foot in his face and was KO before he even hit the ground. The one with the gun might have been wishing he was anywhere but there, because before he could even blink, his fingers were broken and his gun was in Grant's hands. After that, the ones that were still standing thought it better to just get out of dodge.

All throughout the fight Grant had been wondering in the back of his mind, when the IH would show up. The disturbance caused by the fight should have certainly attracted their attention, but even as he walked away from the scene at a brisk pace, there was nothing.

It was mindboggling to Grant, being in a city where the IH had seemingly no foothold. If he'd known there still existed such a place, he'd have moved his operation long before. Maybe he still could. Grant rounded the corner, and stopped dead. On the sidewalk, just a few steps in front of him, there was a newspaper machine. Grant shook his head even as he started to walk forward. It just wasn't possible, he must have been hit on the head or something, making him see things. Because there was just no way in hell, that the city he was standing in was New York City. And yet, the cover of the paper screamed its title at him, with its old-font header and the most ridiculous headline he'd ever seen on the paper.

And yet… there was an odd sense of familiarity about his environment. There weren't any of the buildings he knew from his NYC. No Twin Towers in the distance, no Welcome Tower in the bay and no IH headquarters that took up 5 square blocks right in the center of the City, and reached high above any other building. But there was a building he thought he recognized vaguely. It was a square one with the long peak that Grant suspected was the Empire State Building. But he wasn't sure, he'd never before seen the building in real life, and it got destroyed by an airplane on the Ninth of November, 2 years before he got stationed in NYC.

Even though the skyline looked remarkably different, and there didn't seem to be any sign of the IH, he could still _see_ the ways this City reminded him of _his_ City. The old mixed with the new, the quirky shapes of some of the buildings.

If it weren't for the fact the newspaper clearly said 'December 14th, 2015', Grant might have believed he'd been sent back into time. To a time before the betrayal of SHIELD, before everything he had got ripped away from him, before _she_ was gone. Something weird was going on here, and Grant needed his people to figure out what the hell was going on.

Hoping the differences between his City and this City were only cosmetic, he made his way towards an old safehouse to make a distress call to headquarters. When he punched in the code, he sagged down onto the sofa and closed his eyes. His body was tired and battered, and his mind needed rest. This whole situation was giving him a migraine, and not a small one.

He woke when a gun was cocked. His eyes flew open and he jumped off the sofa. Several guns where trained on him, but that wasn't wat startled Grant. The gun pointed at his head, was in a hand, attached to a body he knew almost better he knew his own. The look on the face didn't match the one in his memory though, but it had been so long since he'd seen her last.

"We got the 'director in distress' call. So how the hell do you know it, and why aren't you dead?" She asked Grant, and he almost dropped to his knees at her familiar voice. The voice that used to coo sweet nothings in his ear. The one that made fun of him for losing at Battleship. The one he could still hear screaming his name in his worst nightmares.

He tried to talk, but no sound came out. Scraping his throat, he tried again, voice thick with emotion. "Skye… You're… alive?!" He'd tried to keep his emotions from his voice, but seeing her again was too much for him to bare. She was standing here in front of him, alive. But all he could think about was the one night, 2 years ago, when she was lying in his arms, bleeding.

"Explain yourself Ward, because my finger is really itching to pull this trigger, and I would be glad to rid the world of the likes of you." There was venom in what she was saying, something he'd never before heard in his Skye's voice. At least not while talking about him.

'Skye… I… I'm not… What's going on here? I don't understand? This isn't possible…" Grant was completely lost, by both her words and the infliction in them.

"No, what's not possible is you being alive, because I'm pretty sure I killed you on that godforsaken planet!" The new voice startled him and filled his veins with ice. His eyes moved from Skye's face towards the door behind her. He moved as fast as he could, positioning him between the newcomer and Skye.

"You! What have you done with her?! How is this happening? What kind of evil have you brought with you this time?"

Skye pushed passed him then, and moved to stand beside Coulson. "Skye no, get back here, he'll kill you. He's done so before…"

Suddenly it all caught up to Grant and he dropped to his knees. Tears were running down his face, and he kept mumbling "don't kill her, take me" and "I don't understand". With a nod towards one of the other agents, Coulson and Skye turned around and Grant's world turned to black again.


	2. Chapter One: A Change Of Scenery

**Chapter One: A Change Of Scenery**

When he wakes this time, he's even more uncomfortable than before. And that's saying something, considering he woke up on a dirty concrete floor with his ribs kicked in. He can tell by the way his shoulders are stiff, he's been in the same position for a while. Arms pulled behind his back, handcuffed to the back of the chair. His neck and shoulders are sore as well, probably from being slumped forward for an extended period of time. His feet are cuffed to the chair legs and the chair itself is bolted to the ground. All in all, it's not the worst situation he's ever woken up in. But it's definitely not the best either.

He wonders briefly why he's still alive, why Coulson didn't just shoot him and be done with it, but then he decides it doesn't really matter. If he's being held for information, they might as well kill him now. Because even if he wanted to, or they tried to torture intel out of him, he wouldn't be able to give them jack shit. SOP for missions gone wrong was dismantling and burning HQ and moving on to a new one. Rescue missions would be set up, but starting a new base like that was the only way of keeping their location a secret. After all, every man had his breaking point, and there's only so much torture anybody can take before they talk.

He takes the time he's still alone to look around the room. That doesn't take him all that long, because there's literally nothing in it, besides the chair he's sitting on. It's a standard interrogation room, like he's seen so many times before. There's a big steel door on his left hand side and a one-way mirror in front of him. The rest of the room is bland gray concrete and smells vaguely of stale coffee. He closes his eyes, to try and get a sense of the place he's in. There's 2 guards outside of the steel door, both heavily armed… no surprise there. He can sense he's in a vast complex, and there's lots of people around, but the amount of steel and concrete blocks his powers a little, so that he can't quite tell how big or how many people. There's also a few people standing behind the mirror, probably waiting for him to wake up in order to start.

If they're trying to make him uncomfortable in the hopes of making him talk, they could be waiting for a long time. Grant's not the type of prisoner who tries to fill awkward silences just to make it less so. He's also not the fidgety type, even if it where remotely possible at the moment.

For now though, they are still leaving him alone, giving Grant some time to go over the facts in his head. Granted, he doesn't know much, but it's a start. He's in NYC, but it looks nothing like the City he remembers. There is seemingly no IH presence here, like there is in his City and any other city he knows. For some reason he wasn't killed by Coulson in Dallas, but he was taken from his own safe house maybe a day later. Whether it was a trick of Coulson so Grant would lead him to HQ or something else, he's not sure. But the strangest thing of all… Skye. She's here, she's alive. Which is the most impossible of all things he's been going through. Grant had watched her die and mourned for her for over 2 years. And to have her suddenly standing in front of him, that was almost too much for him to process.

Suddenly the door opens, and his nemesis walks in. And melodramatic as it might be, there really is no other way of describing Coulson. After everything the man has put him through, after all the lies and the deceit, there's just nothing else Grant can think of him. He's dragging a chair with him, the legs obnoxiously scraping the floor. Most definitely intended to cause Grant at the very least some discomfort, considering his dendrotoxin-headache. He's carrying a manilla folder, like he's some respectable agent, instead of the liar, traitor and murderer he really is. Grant's not the least bit impressed by his theatrics, but he keeps quiet.

Coulson sits down in front of Grant, and Grant's again startled by what his eyes are telling him. He's seen so many things that are strange to him, like the City and Skye. And now Coulson as well. There's hate in his eyes, but not the maniacal, slightly insane sort of look that the man's been sporting for the past 3 years. He's also grayer at the temples, giving him that fatherly look that used to define him, _before_. And the biggest difference between the Coulson he fought and the one sitting before him now, was the mechanical arm. It draws Grant's stare, and he's not really sure how to connect this to the last image he had of Coulson. Another mystery.

Coulson's voice breaks the silence then, and Grant has to grit his teeth not to growl at the man. The sound of his voice alone is enough to make Grant see red and makes him want to rip his ex-mentor's head off.

"Four severe lacerations to the upper back. A total of 5 gunshot wounds to both shoulders. Two in each arm. Several cuts on both arms, torso and legs and at least 15 broken bones, some of them broke more than once." His voice is detached, like he's reading the list of ingredients off a cereal box. Grant cocks his head, because it's strange to hear Coulson list his battle wounds like that. And it's a little surprising there are so many to list, he really thought he was more suave than that.

"Those are just the healed wounds, there's also the 4 busted ribs, severely sprained ankle and the nice shiner you're sporting at the moment." He closes the file and looks at Grant. There's something strange in the look, like Grant's a puzzle that Coulson has yet to figure out. That, even more than the cuffs, the locks and the theatrics, pisses Grant off. After all, they have been enemies for the past 3 years, coworkers for one year before that and like family for most of his life before that. At this point in their alienated relationship, there's not much that's puzzling about either of them.

"Here's the things that are missing from this file. Two GSWs to the left shoulder, four to the torso, a laceration on the left forearm and a crushed ribcage. My team tells me that there was no surgery to get rid of any of the scars or the internal damage. That it seems like those wounds never even existed. Which is strange, because pretty much all of those wounds were inflicted on you by somebody on my team or while you were in our custody." When Coulson stops talking, all Grant can do is stare, slack-jawed and dumbstruck. He tries to think back to the wounds that he got from getting into fights with Coulson's men. There aren't so much that he can't remember them all, but the worst of the scars don't actually show up on his body.

The lacerations on his back, for sure. Those he got by protecting Skye's body from being taken by Coulson's team. One of them had a serious Indiana Jones thing going on, with the whips and stuff. Personally Grant feels like there's only one guy that can pull off the whip thing, and that's Tom 'Indiana Jones' Selleck, but whatever. Anyway, the guy got in a few good shots at Grant's back before he was shot by one of Grant's men. Even though the wounds had hurt like an SOB, it was nothing close to being the pain he felt because of Skye's death.

Of the GSWs there were only 3 or so caused by either Coulson or one of his goons and none of them had been very life threatening. He never got scars on his chest, always wore a vest to prevent just that. And he's never been cut on the wrist before, even though he had briefly contemplated doing that himself when he lost Skye.

It had been dark days, when he locked himself in their room and wished she was still with him. And even though everything around him reminded him of her, and it broke his heart time and time again, he couldn't leave. They'd spent so many wonderful moments in that room, and with everything just the way it was, it was easy to imagine her walking in again. Though it broke his heart even more when she never did.

Throughout all his musings, Coulson just keeps staring at him, like he's meant to talk now. But Grant's just too confused to even make a coherent sentence in his own head. It felt like Coulson really expected different scar-marks on his body and was now waiting for him to give him a reasonable explanation of how they're not the same as he remembers. An explanation which Grant can't give him, even if he were inclined to.

Coulson seems to read his reluctance to answer on his face, because the man gives a great deep sigh and crosses his feet differently. "There's also traces of isotopes in your blood that are… _inconsistent_ with the data we have about your whereabouts and there's no sign of you ever going off world. We've searched for anything we could think of, Fitz going even as far as _cloning_ , but there's no reasonable explanation we can think of, of why you are different. You're Grant Ward in every biological way, and yet…"

There are several things in Coulson's statement that sort of shock Grant. The first is that if Coulson took the time to do a full scan of him, including bloodwork, did he find the Gen Grant's been trying to hide from him for over 3 years. The second causes a little warmth to spread out in Grant's chest, and that's when Coulson refers to his best friend in the present tense. There are few things that could make Grant almost as happy as knowing Skye was still alive, but Fitz being unharmed and doing lab-stuff definitely qualified.

The third thing that strikes him is how everybody keeps calling him 'Ward'. He'd heard Skye call him that before the got drugged, and now Coulson is calling him that as well. It's been a long time since he's heard that name, and there's always a pang of relief that accompanies it.

"That's a name I haven't heard in quite a while." He finally says, because... why not. Something strange is going on and Grant's too tired to fight at it alone. Skye is alive, Fitz appears to be in good health, and Coulson is not the same man he was yesterday. Or at least he doesn't appear to be. Grant's not going to figure out what's happened on his own, and since there's nobody else in the room, and he's not dead yet, it might as well be Coulson.

"I haven't heard that name in… about 26 or so years. And I can't say I'm very fond of it, honestly. The Wards weren't very good people, and I don't know how I would have turned out if they hadn't died when I was 4 years old. But I'm glad I don't have to imagine it. I don't even consider the name as being my own, I've not actually _been_ Grant Ward in a very long time."

There's a look of disbelief on Coulson's face, but behind that there's a little flare of curiosity that makes Grant believe he's not the only one trying to figure out what the hell is going on here. Before he went coo-coo for cocoa puffs, Coulson had been family and the Coulson that's in front of him right now, feels a lot like the man he used to know. The man who always wanted to know the truth and the one that always listened before jumping to conclusions.

"If Grant Ward isn't the name you go by, then what is?" he asks, and Grant swears he hears the trace of interest in Coulson's voice, the same kind he spotted in his eyes just seconds before.

"It's been Grant Garner since I was 5 years old."


	3. Chapter Two: A Change Of Perception

**There's flashbacks.. sort of...**

 **Chapter 2: A Change of Perception**

After Grant's little bomb, Coulson just gets up from his chair and walks out. He doesn't even take the chair back with him. Which would be a stupid move on his part, where it not that Grant's absolutely exhausted and sore everywhere. And not really in the mood to dislocate his own thumb to get out of his cuffs right at that moment. Besides, Grant doesn't think he's got anywhere to go. There's so much difference between where he was and where he is, and it's not like he voluntarily came here, where ever here might be.

He's done the mental calculations and he's come up with a few explanations for his _predicament_. They might not all be sane, but it's all he has right now.

He's decided there are 5 possible ways to account for the situation he's currently in. The first one is that he actually got struck by lightning and is, in fact, currently dead. The second one is that he got struck by lightning, but instead of dead, he's in a deep coma and his brain is scrambled. Or he's finally just gone off the deep end.

There's a possibility that Coulson is behind this, although it seems like a pretty elaborate scheme. And doesn't really seem to have an actual purpose, other than to torture Grant mentally with images and mentions of people long gone. Then again, Coulson is hardly the reasonable man he once was, and torture for the sake of it might not be so farfetched after all.

The final thing he's come up with, and the strangest one he could think of, is that he actually got transported from his own world and ended up in some kind of parallel thing. A world that is so different from his own in crucial ways, but similar in many others. And even though Grant knows it's not probable (he won't ever say _impossible_ again, not since the New York thing) he kind of hopes that this explanation is the correct one. Even though it seems like he's at odds with _everybody_ he's been around, there are so many things better about this reality than his own twisted one. The fact that IH doesn't seem to rule the world, Fitz apparently being his obviously brilliant – if slightly paranoid- self… and Skye being alive.

That's the thing that really has him hoping for the most improbable of the explanations. Death, a coma or insanity aren't the worst things if this is what it's like. And if he gets to see Skye in his afterlife or his delusions or whatever, than that's fine by him. But if it's really an alternate world or reality, than that means Skye is actually still alive and it's not just in his head. Not just wishful thinking. It would mean that somewhere, even if it isn't in his own reality, Skye was still around. And while it looks like she hates him in this world, she' still in it.

They leave him alone for quite a while, and Grant finds himself dosing off a few times. Being a Specialist has thought him to sleep in short burst and uncomfortable places, because you never know when you'll get another moment of rest. In those short naps, he finds himself dreaming of his Skye, of a time when the only thing they had to worry about was professionalism in the Office.

 _He's in a suit, walking beside Coulson and they're animatedly talking about his mom's new trainee (and headache) when they arrive at their destination. It's a blue van, parked in a secluded ally behind a restaurant, and in it, the most beautiful girl he's ever seen in his live. Until she opens her mouth. When he pulls the hood over her head – admittedly, not a good way to earn trust or even politeness – the profanity just flows from her mouth. All the way into the Ship's interrogation room, she's yammering about assholes in black suits and government robots and 'she has rights, you know' and 'there's no way to stop the truth from getting out'. And even though he's thoroughly annoyed by it, he's also strangely fascinated by her. She's a tiny little thing, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, and yet she's screaming and cursing like a sailor on leave._

 _She seems fearless and he's got to fight several smiles from spreading over his face at her antics. She's a person of interest in a classified investigation and it would be very unprofessional if he started supplying more curse-words for her to use, right? He's got quite a few he could teach her though, in about 6 different languages. But he's a Specialist, one of the very best this Agency has to offer, and he's been trained in remaining stoic and detached. Besides, his mother is on the other side of the one-way mirror, and he's pretty sure she wouldn't be amused by him. There's a time and a place for frivolity, she would say, and this is not it._

 _Then the scene starts to change, and suddenly she's lying on a training mat scowling up at him. There are wisps of hair stuck to the sweat on her face, and her light blue tank top has darkened markedly. Still Grant can't help but think she's looks like a million bucks, and he can't fight the small smirk that crosses his features. He honestly tries to keep professional when he's around her, but she doesn't make it easy for him. She's just so sarcastic and witty, that it's hard for Grant not to break down and shoot the shit with her. Sometimes he slips, and something slips out she considers funny. And then, for just a moment, there would be a content little quirk of her lips, and Grant can't help but wonder if she enjoys breaking his focus. Like today._

 _"_ _It's not bad enough you drag me out of bed at 5 AM to," she fakes a shudder, "train. To top that off you make me do the absolute worst of things, right before its breakfast time. How am I supposed to eat my breakfast, Robot, if I can't even lift my damn arms! They're like cooked spaghetti! You can't eat with cooked spaghetti, GG. I swear to you, I'm never doing another pull-up. I'm banning the practice of pull-ups. I don't ever want to do one, ever again." She looks up at him, fire in her eyes and her chin defiantly lifted, and he knows he's lost. She's lead him down a winding path, and he won't ever find his way out again. But, as long as she's there as well, he doesn't mind being lost._

 _But obviously he can't tell her that. That would be… Nope, it's one thing to admit it to himself, but as long as he's her SO, he's not taking this – whatever this is – any further. If he wants to keep her safe in this line of work, the only thing he can do is teach her to be the best she can be. Still he can't help himself, when he comments on her pull-up rant._

 _"_ _If you ever find yourself hanging off the edge of a building, twenty stories up, you're going to want to do at least one." He doesn't stay to see the little smile appear on her lips, but he's sure it's there. It always is._

 _He's walking away from the training area, but suddenly he's standing back beside her. She's in black yoga pants and a red shirt with a zip-up hoodie hanging knotted around her waist. She's holding a standard 9MM Glock in her right hand, a magazine clip in her left, and a very sheepish look on her face. "I swear I'm going to get the hang of this, but for future reference, they should really think about putting those two buttons farther apart on this thing." She slides the magazine back into the gun and tries again, dropping the clip,_ again _._

 _Grant's not fighting the smile that crosses his face, because he knows it's a losing battle. There shouldn't be anything funny about his Rookie not being able to get 2 simple buttons straight, because that knowledge is literally the difference between life and death. But the way she's standing there, her hands on her hips and the gun aimed dangerously low at his… crucial parts (luckily the clip's on the ground), and her face in reluctant resignation, it's just too adorable to not smile about. Grant takes the gun from her hand and holds it out in front of her face. He points his index finger towards the left side of the weapon, at a little button, and says "magazine release". Then he very slowly and deliberately moves his finger towards the little lever on the trigger, "safety release". He takes her right hand and closes it around the gun. "Now, again."_

 _There's a smile on his lips when he murmurs beneath his breath, "At least you're not saying 'bang' anymore when you pull the trigger." He's sure she's heard him though, because when their training ends, she makes a finger gun, points at him and says 'bang' before skipping out of the training area._

When he bolts awake, he's a little disoriented at first. The headache has lessened, but his muscles are all clenching up and it takes him longer than it should before he remembers the situation he's in. It has been a long time since he dreamed about Skye without there being blood and screaming and death, and Grant feels guilty for having repressed the good memories. He still feels so responsible for her death, even though he didn't pull the trigger himself. If he hadn't believed that Coulson could still be saved, she wouldn't have died, and that was solely on him.

Nothing has changed about his situation, he's still cuffed at both hands and feet, and still sitting in an empty and bleak room. But there's a different vibe in the room now, like the heavy cloud of hate and distrust has lifted a little. Or maybe it's just his mood being less oppressed by those feelings. Dreaming of Skye, remembering those early times, it should bum him out. Instead it lifts his spirits, and there's a new sort of hope blooming in his chest.

Then the door opens, and life seems to have chosen this particular moment to throw him another curve ball. He's shocked to see her standing in the doorway and a little ashamed he hasn't thought about her being in this reality as well. Maybe he's secretly been hoping she wouldn't be here, because he doesn't want to see that look of hate in her eyes. But if wishes were horses…

Her face is set in a deceptively blank stare, but he knows this woman, and he can feel the deadliness and the hate radiating off her in waves. And even though he'd gone through a bit of an obnoxious-teenager-phase, he's never in his whole life been the recipient of _that_ look. The one she gives the vilest specimens of the human (or not so human) race. No, Grant was always one of the few people who got to see emotion on her face and right at this moment, he's sure even disappointment would be better, instead of this carefully constructed indifference. Like he's a bug, inconsequential in her world, and she's just taken notice because she's been _ordered_ to.

The hope he felt just seconds ago fades a little, and in its place fear pops up. He's never been afraid of her, never had any reason to be. Then again, she's always just been his mom to him, never an Agent. And that's why it had been hard to believe the stories about her when he was younger. He'd always known her as a strict but loving, generous and fair woman, with a graceful gentleness that he'd never seen repeated in anybody else. So when he started the Academy, and heard the stories about 'the Cavalry', it didn't mash with the picture of her he had. Quite honestly, he couldn't imagine the woman who read him fairytales for bedtime, who comforted him when he was scared or sad, fighting off an entire gang of adrenaline-fueled sociopaths on her own. Of course he'd always known his mother was an Agent, they'd never kept that a secret from him. But knowing it on a vague level, and hearing about her heroics were two quite different things.

But now, after all these years of working with her, he knows how deadly she is. And being the smart man he is, he's rightfully scared.

It feels like an eternity before she walks into the room and sits down in front of him. Now that she's closer, he can see the differences between his mother and this woman. She's harder, somehow, more jaded. There are no laugh-lines around her eyes and the frown she's sporting seems to be her face's default way, rather than a sporadic occurrence. Her eyes appear darker than he remembers and the hate that swims in them is so totally unlike his actual mother that he involuntarily jerks back a little.

Still she keeps quiet, and for the first time ever in an interrogation room, he feels the need to break the awkward silence that's hanging around, being very oppressive and chest-constricting. It's no wonder his mother had the highest confession-rate of all the Agents, back when there still was an Agency. It shouldn't really surprise him though, she's always been good at getting him to spill his beans with only a look and a raised eyebrow.

He's trying very hard not to give into his desire to call out to her, to call her 'mom'. He's pretty sure the woman in front of him wouldn't appreciate being called that. But it takes all of his willpower and focus not to break first. If his real mother would've been here, she would totally be proud of Grant, for not breaking under pressure. This other woman, though an almost carbon copy of his mother, doesn't look impressed in the slightest. She purses her lips slightly, and just when he thinks she's about to break the silence, she gets up and walks out of the room. Leaving Grant alone again, and even more confused than he was before.

He sort of overflows with sadness when he thinks about all the people he's seen already, and the hate each of them directs towards him. Spoken or unspoken, he can tell there's a lot of history between everybody and this Grant Ward. The hate Coulson directs towards him, he can take. It's been that way for the better part of 3 years, and while it broke his heart when it first started happening, he's used to it by now. But the venom in Skye's voice and the cold stare he got from his mother, those are the real punch to the gut.

And if he's right (and he so hopes he's not hallucinating) about the alternate reality, then this world's Grant Ward must have done something unspeakably cruel to deserve such loathing. The only thing he can even imagine would cause such feelings, is a betrayal on a very personal level. He knows it has to be that, because the disgust and hate he sees and feels around him, are exactly the way he feels about Philip Coulson in his own reality. And given the fact that they all hate him, or _alternate him_ so much, he's concerned they won't believe anything he has to say. Alternate worlds are a step up from aliens after all, and despite the physical differences they already found, he can't really _prove_ an alternate reality. Or at least, he can't really prove he's not the asshole Ward they know in this one. When all is said and done, it comes down to trust. And Grant's not really convinced that anybody here will ever trust him. Honestly, if he was in their shoes, he probably wouldn't believe himself either.

He thinks about his own team, or what's left of it anyways. One upon a time they were a tight little group, closer than any other Field Team the Agency had. They had his mother, an amazing Agent with the speed and accuracy of a cobra, and the heart of a lioness. Not to mention one of the best pilots around. They'd had Tony, his mom's Rookie-turned-specialist, who was funny and open and could always be counted on for a laugh and a game of poker. In the lab they had Leo and Jem, who were inseparable and sometimes insufferable, but who he always trusted when it came to tech or medical stuff. And after they took Skye into custody, she joined their little ragtag group and became their most trusted computer specialist, and the most reluctant Rookie known to man. This all under the warm and honest supervision of Philip Coulson.

After things went down with Coulson, there wasn't much left of their little family, not to mention the Agency in its whole. The rise of HYDRA from within the ranks of SHIELD had been a blow, causing a rift between the people who were genuinely working towards the good of humanity, and those who sought world (or universe) domination through fear and violence. Many people Grant had thought of as friends, turned out to be traitors. Including Coulson. After that, Coulson became the big bad in Grant's story, always lurking behind dark corners, coming up with nefarious plans. Well, maybe not literally, but still.

Grant's team had fluxed, growing when he added Bonnie and Mack, then shrinking again when Skye died and Jem was captured. They lost his mother during the mission to rescue Jem, and the scientist was never the same again after that. Jem's state in turn caused Leo to shut down, and before Grant knew it, it was just him, Bonnie, Mack, Tony and a handful of other Agents against the rising forces of HYDRA, and Coulson. Grant still hates himself for not seeing Coulson's end game sooner, and for not being able to stop it when it happened.

When Grant's stomach begins to growl he focusses again on the here and now, instead of taking the path down memory lane. A path that ultimately leads to anger, guilt and heartache.

Coulson walks in again, an energy bar in his hand and a weary, tired look on his face. He sits down in front of Grant, unwraps the bar and takes a bite. Grant sees him chewing thoroughly and even though he tries to stop it, his stomach growls again. Coulson lifts his eyes to lock onto Grants and swallows. The rest of the bar, he places on Grant's leg, a place that would be very reachable, if it weren't for the cuffs that chain his hands behind his back.

After another minute of silence, where Grant's eyes can't leave the energy bar on his leg, Coulson clears his throat. "Let's talk."


	4. Chapter Three: A Change Of Tactic

**I know it's been more than a week, but I've been supersick since wednesday and really not in the mood for writing... I'm (mostly) better now, so here it is!**

 **I've got my trusty Beta Eedmund back, and I'll be posting a new chapter every Sunday (my time)**

 **Enjoy!**

Grant doesn't really know how to respond to the casually announced request. Like Coulson wants to have a friendly conversation instead of this being an interrogation. But considering the fact that Grant's still chained to his chair, he's got no illusions about this being a regular conversation. He's not nearly exhausted enough to believe that this Coulson just up and decided to hear him out, out of the goodness of his heart. He's sure there's an angle to Coulson's inquiry but he doesn't know _what_ that angle might be. Did they find something, besides physical discrepancies, that piqued their interest? Or is it just that they're stalling for time in order to achieve a goal of some sort. No matter what the reason is though, this is a chance he wasn't expecting to have. After his moth… no, Melinda May's visit earlier, he figured he was done for. She'd looked at him with so much loathing and contempt, he knew there was no way she'd let him get his story out. Apparently, she isn't the big boss around, and Grant can only be thankful for that.

Still, he's not going to make this too easy, that's just not the way he was raised. Besides, he's been deprived of food, water and restful sleep for almost a full day now so he figures he's got a right to ask for something in return. He nods towards the energy bar still resting on his leg, "I tend to talk better when my stomach's not trying to eat itself. So, do you mind?" Coulson looks at him for a moment and just when Grant thinks the man will ignore his request, he picks up the bar and holds it in front of Grant. It's some kind of nutty, gooey concoction, but the moment it hits his stomach, Grant feels somewhat more energized.

"That's… disgusting. But thanks."

The older man drops his chin a little in acknowledgement before pulling a small notebook from his inner pocket. "So, let's get this shindig going, shall we. After all, we've got places to go. Well... I've got places to go, you… probably not so much." Despite the situation he's in, that actually makes Grant's lips twitch. It used to be like this between them. He can remember the times he's been in interrogation with Coulson, before the world came down around them. Granted, they'd been on the same side of the proverbial table. They always had this witty repartee between them that would either relax their questioned, or piss them off royally. And while his mother really had the best interrogation records, Grant and Coulson weren't far behind.

"You know what, you're wrong!" Grant replies, his lips again set in a grim line. Coulson's eyebrows rise in question. "About?" he asks while clicking on his pen. Grant drops his chin a little, "I've got a manicure scheduled right after this."

Coulson's lip twitch is much more pronounced than Grant's was, so he spots it easily and he's again struck by the memories of his honorary uncle. That sarcastic sort of humor, always delivered so levelly and the open-mindedness beneath his stoic exterior is something he hasn't seen in the _other_ Coulson in a long time. It takes Grant back to lazy days by the lake, swimming and fishing, to nights listening to cello music in the garden, to hours of listening about proper classic car maintenance. They are memories Grant doesn't really allow to surface much, because it makes the betrayal afterwards so much worse.

He wonders if it's possible to fake these sentiments so convincingly. Grant prides himself on being a very good judge of character and knowing lies from truths, but he's been fooled before with great catastrophe as a consequence. He needs a strategy, some way of getting information from Coulson, without having to give too much away himself. Considering Coulson was one of SHIELDS top agents it won't be easy, but there's really nothing else he's got right now.

"I'll make you a deal," he says, "I'll give you a story of mine, and you give me one of yours. Equal trade." Grant can see the wheels in Coulson's head turning, a clear sign that the man's weighing risk and reward. It must be worth it in the end, because the older man nods and gestures Grant to go first.

Grant thinks back to his SHIELD training, trying to find a trick that will allow him to get the upper hand in the room, but quickly changes his mind. Coulson's got the same training after all and almost everything Grant knows, he's learned from his mentor. Then he remembers something his father once said, _'the key to getting people to open up to you, is to find something you've got in common and talk about that. It will make the other person feel like he's understood and will create something on which you can form a bond."_

"I remember this one time, I think I was about 9 you brought me in a room much like this one. Somebody had broken into your garage and left chocolate handprints all over Lola, and you were determined to make me confess. I think you even threatened to send me to the Fridge. In the end you punished me by banning me from the garage for 6 months. You didn't even bring her when you visited us on the weekend. As far as punishments go, that was a harsh one for me, I think I loved that tiny car as much as you did. I never did bring food in the garage after that. I'm still maintaining innocence, after all these years."

 _Grant's in Coulson's garage, looking at Lola with wonder. He likes the way the car's chrome parts always shine to perfection, how the red color is bright and how there's not a single spot on the beige seats. He thinks it's the most beautiful car there is. But he's not really allowed near it, especially not when he's alone. But Uncle Phil is busy on the phone and Coop's playing kickball against the wall, so there's nobody around to tell him off for just sitting in it._

 _He puts the last bit of chocolate in his mouth and brushes his hands on his pants before creeping ever so slowly towards the car. He's learned to be careful in his Uncle's house, the last time he snuck into somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, he got Tasered. But there's nothing around the car, no wires or pressure plates or anything so he's probably safe._

 _Grant gets in the car, hands on the wheel at 2 and 10 and starts racing. He's very into his game, making 'vroom' and 'eep' noises from time to time. Then he moves his hands, and spots a smear of molten chocolate on the steering wheel. He quickly wipes it off and looks around for more, spotting several dark brown smears on the soft tan_ _seats._

 _Coop and he are playing kickball together, both faces and hands smeared with chocolate when Uncle Phil comes running from the garage is a fit._

Coulson makes some notes in his little booklet before looking up at Grant again. There's nothing on his face, but his eyes have gotten a little harder. That's not the response Grant expected after talking about Lola. The Coulson he knew would mellow out any time Lola was brought up. But his face is still blank. "Lola's not just a collectable you know. People tend to confuse the words _new_ and _improved_. I don't let anybody touch her and I detail her myself, always. _Somebody_ ," he says with great emphasis, and there's steel in his voice "shot at her. I still haven't found a new original windshield."

Grant's not 100% sure what just happened, but it seems his attempt to connect with this Coulson failed. Miserably. But that doesn't mean this little piece of conversation wasn't informative in some way. For instance, he now knows this Coulson also has a great love for the little classic. He also knows it's currently not in commission and that's a sore spot with the older man. The third thing, probably the most important bit of info he's gotten, is that the likely shooter of Lola is Grant Ward.

Grant's starting to understand why these people all seem to hate this Ward guy so much. He apparently did something bad enough that his entire team hates him, made Skye want to kill him, made Coulson actually kill him and on top of that, he also shot at Lola. Grant's now convinces more than ever it's something personal. After all, it's not like getting the wrong kind of yoghurt for the team fridge is punishable by death, right?

"Look, I'm not sure what it is you're looking for from me here. I don't know if you found something about me and are trying to get me to explain those things, like you did with the scars, or you're just stalling for time. Either way, I don't know why we're doing this, and I'm sure my answers will ever be the ones you're looking for."

Grant shifts in his chair, trying to get into a position to relieve some of his muscles from the strain, when something clicks. He moves his calf against the leg of the chair and when his leg touches the chair, his suspicions are confirmed. When going out on a mission, standard outfit also includes an LDC. Grant's LDC was more than just a communication tool. It contained his whole life, pictures, emails, video's from the life he had before. To make sure their LDC's were not corruptible, Leo created them, programmed them and encoded them.

He can't believe he didn't notice it missing before. He knows he had it when he woke up at the warehouse, because he felt it when he checked for his knife. He didn't use it to call for back-up because that's not SOP. A decent hacker could piggyback on the signal and HQ could be compromised before it was evacuated. When he woke up in this room he forgot the LDC in favor of trying to make sense of this situation. But now he knows it's missing and probably in the hands of these people. This would not concern him much, the thing itself is unhackable. There's only one person besides Grant that's able to unlock it.

"Leo unlocked my LDC."


	5. Chapter Four: A Change In Direction

**Previously on "This Is Not Mine."**

 **Grant Garner woke in a strange world, so much like his own, yet different in crucial parts. When trying to contact his team, he's captured by the one person he never thought he'd see again and his own mortal enemy.**

 **In trying to find out what the hell happened to him and where he is, Grant learns more about this other world and the people in it.**

 **That works both ways though, because they've learned some things of their own.**

* * *

"Leo unlocked my LDC."

Coulson doesn't have time to respond either way, because the door suddenly and violently swings open. It slams into the wall so hard, the concrete cracks and crumbles, leaving a doorknob sized hole in its wake. In the doorway a furious looking Skye is standing, brown eyes blazing with rage and jaw firmly set. In her hands Grant can see several pages of something, but he can't tell what's on them. She looks like an avenging Valkyrie and Grant has to swallow a few times to keep himself in check. He hasn't seen her like this in so long. He remembers it though, the look of righteous indignation on her face, the steely determination in her eyes and the warrior-pose she made completely her own, even though Grant had often wondered if she'd ever get the hang of it.

Grant's so wrapped up in staring at Skye, he doesn't notice it when Coulson moves from his chair to stand slightly in front of him. If Grant didn't know any better, he'd think it was a defensive pose. But because he does, he sees it for what it actually is, a way to keep control over the situation by blocking visual triggers.

"Daisy" Coulson says softly, his arms lifted, palms out. She doesn't respond, doesn't move an inch. But her eyes must still shoot lightning, because he doesn't make a move forward. "Daisy," he says again, a little louder this time, more authoritative. There's no change in Skye and Grant knows it's hard for her to come back when she's in a rage like this. Her stare takes a faraway quality, like she's not seeing what's in front of her and the angrier she is, the longer it takes her to get back. With his Skye, it was always Grant's voice that could bring her back. He guesses Coulson does this for Daisy as well.

Several slow seconds pass and suddenly Skye visibly deflates. Her shoulders slump and she leans against the doorpost like she's just run a marathon. Which she might as well have, the energy required to reign in her rampant emotions is equally draining. Coulson moves towards her, his hands coming down on her shoulders. "Daisy", he says a third time and there are so much layers to that one word. Comfort, anger, understanding and disappointment, along with several more that Grant can't really place at the moment.

She closes her eyes and leans into Coulson's hands for a fraction of a second, before straightening up. Her eyes are clear when she looks over Coulson's shoulder, the rage still there but more controlled. Like a coiled snake, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. Again the resemblance to his Skye is striking and Grant has to turn his head before getting overwhelmed with the emotions he tries very hard to bury.

"I. Want. An. Explanation." She clips her words, biting them out at Grant. The harsh sounds bring Grant back from his own emotions. His Skye never used that voice on him, but he'd heard it enough directed at the lowest of the low. Which is clearly how she sees him. Or other him. It's getting confusing keeping everything separate in his own head.

Before Grant can say anything, Coulson steps in again. "Daisy!" he says, like it's not the only thing he's said to her since she walked in. His voice is commanding now and he's not talking to her like the father figure he so obviously is, but as her boss. "Walk it off. Now!" She looks like she's about to argue, but must see something in his eyes to dissuade her of it. There's one more look of pure contempt thrown in Grant's direction before she turns on her heels and stalks off.

Coulson barks out a few orders to the Agents guarding the door before closing it and sitting back down. Outwardly he doesn't appear to be ruffled but there's a pinching around his eyes that Grant knows is stress related. Not that he blames the man. Skye in a rage could easily bring down this entire complex, and then some. Grant remembers the early days of their transformation, the way Skye was afraid of touching anybody, of being near anybody. She'd hurt herself so much back then, keeping in the power she had. And when it burst out, it was unstoppable, crumbling the most impressive structures into dust. It had taken her a long time to learn how to control the powers, and there was a lot of ice cream involved. Bill and Terry made a killing off the Garner family in those months. Grant wouldn't come near anything vanilla for a long time after that, just the smell of it nauseating him.

Grant looks at Coulson again, really looks. There's a weariness underneath the director-façade, something that only befalls men who try to carry the weight of the world. A lot like Grant felt himself for a very long time. Making the hard calls is never easy, and it always leaves a mark.

He sighs, "I guess that answers my question. What did she see?"

Coulson stays quiet as he looks at the papers he took from Skye before she left. He pages through the stack, sometimes frowning, sometimes smiling softly. "She looks really happy in these pictures. Happy like I've never seen her before, almost carefree." Grant doesn't have to wonder what pictures he's talking about. He knows the ones he's referring to. The ones from _before_ where there was still a light in his Skye's eyes and an easy smile on her lips.

"She was. _We_ were." Grant replies softly but with emphasis on the 'we'. Grand Ward might not be a good guy, and he might have done horrible things to make Skye hate him, but Grant Garner was a good guy, who had loved Skye with all his heart. Who still, after 2 years, loved her. And she had loved him with equal fervor.

"Why the past tense?" Coulson asks. "When we caught you, you said _"He'll kill you, he's done so before"_. What did you mean by that?"

Grant swallows. He's got millions of memories of Skye, of them together. Them being happy and carefree and just _young_. And even after, when everything changed and the world had become much darker, they found joy in just being together. And then she'd died and all his memories were overshadowed by the one where she lay in his arms, bleeding.

 _He realizes it's a trap just milliseconds before they are surrounded. "Ambush!" he yells even though he knows the rest of them know it already. There's no way out, blocked at every turn by one of Coulson's goons. And then the man himself shows up. Looking all smug and full of himself, eyes shining with fire like the devil himself._

" _Well… if it isn't my very favorite SHIELD team. I guess now we know who was the brain behind your success. Just a hint, it wasn't any of you," he sneers at them._

 _Grant can feel Skye moving before he has a chance to stop her. She walks closer to the maniac they once considered family, trying against her better judgement to appeal to his better side. Grant's not sure he still has one. There's something ironic in SHIELD saving Coulson's life in order to save the world only to have him destroy the Agency and make the world burn. Grant guesses that's the way it goes, you always create your own worst enemy. And whatever SHIELD did to keep Coulson alive, it stripped him from all the humanity he had. Still, they can't help but try to get him back. Because of love, honor and family. Things Coulson would say makes you weak, but Grant knows them to be the most powerful of emotions._

" _AC, please. Don't do this. There's still a chance, you can still undo this. It's not too late," she begs him. And for a moment it looks like she's getting through to him, his face morphing from the sneering diabolical man he's been for the last 4 years into the soft and loving one Grant has known since he was five._

" _Really?" Coulson asks with softness in his voice, a little sadness even. "I can still come back? After… everything?" There's a brokenness to his voice that tugs at Grant's heartstrings, and he knows it has the same effect on Skye. He almost believes it worked, and Grant has to acknowledge that the man has a gift for theatrics, because the sneer returns and his demeanor is almost bored when he raises his gun and fires._

 _She throws up her hands in order to block the bullet, and Grant jumps to catch it with his own body, but they are both too late. There's a bloodstain spreading across her chest and she falls forward, a look of bewilderment in her eyes. Grant drops down onto his knees in_ _front of her, easing her onto her back. His hands are covered in the blood he's trying to keep inside of her. He hears screaming all around him, but he's not sure who's it is. It could be his, but it doesn't really matter. Nothing really matters anymore._

 _Skye blinks slowly, clearly struggling to keep awake. She opens and closes her mouth a few times but the only thing that leaves it, is a trail of blood. "Shhht, don't try to talk baby. Please, save your strength, stay with me. Please, stay with me." he begs her. There's gunfire and fighting in the background and he knows it's his team, but he can't seem to make himself care. He can't make it matter. The only thing that is important right now is Skye. Keeping her alive. And if she dies, it won't matter if they kill him._

 _She tries to take a breath but has to cough because of all the blood. So much blood. "I… l-l-l'm… so-s-sor-sorry… lo-love you." she manages to whisper, before the light fades out of her eyes completely. There's a moment when it feels like the world stands still, and Grant can only hope that it refuses to spin again without Skye, but then the sounds snap back and he's still holding his dead wife in his arms. "No! No, no, no. Please, no. God, please no…" Grant whimpers while squeezing Skye's body tightly against his. He's rocking back and forth, trying to make her move again, make her alive again. But she's gone, her eyes blank and every muscle in her body limp. He drops his head to her chest, not caring about the blood that mixes with his tears as he cries._

 _He doesn't notice the burning on his back, or the man who's causing it. The world outside of his bubble disappears, there's only Skye, him and loss. The only thing Grant hears is silence where there should be a heartbeat. The only thing he can feel is the desolate emptiness creeping in on him. Then there are strong hands on him, trying to pull him back, away from Skye. Grant struggles, he's not letting go, he won't let them take her. She's his, and he's not giving her up, no matter what. Then there's a tiny prick in the back of his neck, and his world goes black._

"She died." His throat feels thick and he has to scrape it a few times to find his voice again. "We were ambushed and she took a bullet." Coulson nods, and there's actual sympathy in his eyes. Like he knows what it's like to lose somebody you love like that. It's hard for Grant to see that look in the man' eyes when it's about Skye, but if he's not this world's Grand Ward, this Coulson is not his world's Coulson. Probably. Most likely. Maybe.

"Who shot her?" he asks, his voice taking on a fragile tone that tells Grant he already knows, dreads the answer.

Grant looks him in the eyes and he feels a pang of sadness for the older man. From the limited interaction he's seen between Skye – Daisy – and Coulson he knows there's more between them than a mere boss-employee relationship. He's witnessed it when Coulson was the one who could bring Sk – _Daisy_ – back from the precipice of the abyss. There's love and affection between them and Grant telling him that there's a version of him alive that has betrayed his Agency and killed Skye… Grant knows that will be a though pill to swallow, for this version of Coulson.

Deep down though, Grant just wants to see _some_ version of Coulson be sorry, to show remorse for the life that was so brutally stolen. The _lives_ that were stolen. And if he can't get that from his own world's Coulson, he might as well get it from this one.

Which is a thought Skye wouldn't have wanted him to have, he knows. And he feels something akin to shame because of the thought, but dammit, he's been carrying this pain around for so long. And he's still so mad at himself for being too late, at Coulson for destroying everything, and at her for lying to him, for leaving him. Rationally he knows that displacing anger isn't the solution, but it still makes him feel a little better right now.

"Philip Coulson did."

Even though he probably expected Grant's answer, it still comes as a shock to Coulson. The man turns white as a sheet and his eyes flash with horror and disbelief. His shoulders sag and he generally looks defeated. Like he'd hoped against hope Grant would name somebody else, _anybody else_.

There's sorrow in his voice when he speaks again, the word shaky and hoarse, "Why?"

 _Why_ … Grant thinks that's a very good question, but he's not really sure he can answer it. Because he's asked himself that so many times over the past 2 years. And even before that, when Coulson changed. It was an ever-present question, like the what-ifs and the if-only's.

"He used to be family… and then he died. But he was important, to SHIELD and to the world, so they did something to him, bringing him back from the dead. Years of horror movies should have told them that would be a bad idea…. He wasn't the same after that. It was there in small things, noticeable only in hindsight. No more music in his office, no more stories about his all-time hero, Bucky 'Captain America' Barnes. We assumed he was trying to adjust to the knowledge of being dead and coming back." Grant sighs. It's hard for him, dragging this all up. Especially in front of the man who's the mirror image of the man he's talking about. But he steels himself for the rest.

"We spend an entire year on a plane together, and none of us ever saw the change. Every little weird thing he did, we chalked it up to him still coming to terms with what happened to him. Turns out, he was one hell of an actor. Oscar material even. He fooled us all. And when everything came to a head, he burned down everything I held dear. My family, my home, my Agency and the world itself. And still, I don't know why… I don't know how he changed from Uncle Phil to _that_ or why he suddenly became that hungry for power and dominance."

Coulson doesn't respond to that, but Grant can see he's trying to process the story. His stoic appearance is crumbling and Grant can clearly see all the emotions that are crossing over his features.

"Did he ever say something about TAHITI?" he asks suddenly.

Grant shrugs, "Only that is was a magical place."

Coulson nods and scrapes his throat. "I died. A few years back, our world got invaded by an Alien army, led by a megalomaniacal Asguardian with some serious daddy issues."

Grant's head snaps up. "Loki? With Chitauri forces at his command?"

Coulson nods again. "He stabbed me through the heart, killing me, but in doing so he gave Earth's defenders the boost they needed to come together and defeat him." There's a grim smile on his face, when he continues, "Fury never let an opportunity slip from his grasp, and my death was exactly the push the Avengers needed. Well, that and my mint condition Captain America trading card collection."

Grant remembers those cards from in his world, the glass case they had been displayed in and the fond way his uncle Phil had talked about them and the man depicted on them.

"Anyway," Coulson proceeds, "They brought me back with a secret drug, all the while telling me I only died for a few seconds and that they sent me to Tahiti to recuperate. The only thing I really remembered about my 'time' in Tahiti, was that it was a magical place. And had nice umbrella'd drinks."

"The drug they used was called GH.325, engineered from the blood of a Kree warrior. It made me… loopy… for a while. If it had gone on for longer than it did, I don't know what would have happened…"

The trails off, his mind clearly in the past, and Grant can't help but focus on the similarities between the events that brought back this Coulson and the other one.

There's a sigh coming from the older man. "That being said, I was strong enough to hold it at bay, and I did – eventually – tell others, I had help. Your," he swallows, "… Coulson could have done the same. The fact that he didn't makes him an idiot, and the rest of his actions make him evil. There's no coming back from those kinds of actions, no matter how much we wish it were possible."

He turns quiet after that, just sits in his chair, a pensive look in his eyes. Then he gets up and moves towards Grant. He can't help but flinch, just a little, because he's tied down and tired and his defenses are down. But the older man only moves behind Grant. A click echoes loudly in the concrete room and suddenly Grant's hands are free. He rubs his wrists and moves his muscles to get the blood flowing again. There's a burn in his fingers, indicating they've been without proper flow for too long a time.

Coulson comes back into view and takes his seat again. But Grant sees the alertness in his eyes and he can tell Coulson's ready for action, should it come to that.

Grant's not about to do anything that will likely get him shot, or killed. "Thank you." He simply says.

The other man nods. "You've been in here for just over 30 hours. We've run every test we could think of on you, studied every file on your – ehm- device to find signs of tampering. There was nothing. Now, I don't know where you come from, or how you got here, but I do know that you're not Grant Ward. Unfortunately for you though, I'm the only one who's convinced at the moment. Fortunately I'm the director, so that makes me the decision-maker around here."

Grant can only feel relief at the man's words. One person who believes him, it's a start.

"Now," Coulson continues while he stands, "I'm going to have to cuff you again, just out of precaution, while we walk. I can't let you roam around the base, but we've got a reasonably comfortable cell in the basement. I'll take you there, and we'll talk more after you've eaten and rested.

* * *

I'm sorry it took so long for the new chapter to be up, I've started a new job and it was a bit of an adjustment :)

I hope you all like the new chapter!


	6. Chapter Five: A Change Of Heart

Grant decides that his definition of 'reasonably comfortable' differs slightly from Coulson's. But the cell's got a cot to sleep on and space to stretch his legs so Grant won't complain. He's had worse.  
The food waiting for him is just a plain ham and cheese sandwich but given the fact that all he's had to eat in the past 2 days is a bite of the world's most disgusting energy bar, it might as well be filet mignon. He drains the water bottle that accompanied his meal and drops down onto the cot. He's out in seconds. His reality giving way to dreams immediately.

 _Skye's sitting in one of the white leather seats in the lounge area of the Ship, playing around with her laptop. He watches her for a few moments, the way her eyes are squinted in concentration, the way her slender fingers fly over the keyboard. The way her tongue pokes out from between her lips as she's reading whatever it is that's on her screen. She looks young, sitting crossed legged like that but, also, competent. And he's head over heels, after spending only a few days with her. Which is something he's got to keep locked away, because it wouldn't be professional. And if he gets reassigned because of his feelings, he'd have to trust somebody else to protect Skye, which he doesn't._

 _He squares his shoulders and moves into the lounge area, dropping into a seat across from her._

" _Finally done with the creepy staring, Robot?" she asks him, without taking her eyes off her screen. Grant's a little startled she's noticed him standing there, because she hasn't been the most observing since she's been with their team. She's walked into his mother twice and almost broke Leo's nose running around a corner._

" _I wasn't staring. I was… observing. What are you doing, anyway?"_

 _She looks up at him, eyes a little narrowed at his obvious cop-out. "I'm Google-fishing." She replies and then sighs when she sees the blank look on his face._

" _You know, Google-fishing?" she shakes the laptop a little, as if that would make him understand what the hell 'Google-fishing' is exactly. He raises a brow instead of replying and she sighs again, this time sounding very exasperated._

" _Google-fishing is what you do when you don't really know what exactly you're looking for. You give a vague search term and follow the links through the web. Like regular fishing, you don't know exactly where the fish are, but you throw your line in the hopes of catching something."_

 _Grant cocks his head. "What are you trying to catch?"_

 _Two slender shoulders rise a little, "I don't know, that's the beauty of Google-fishing. There's information a-plenty if you know how and where to look. The biggest source of shared knowledge. You know, one person might not be able to solve the problem, but if a 100 people have 1% of the solution, the job gets done. I think that's beautiful, pieces solving a puzzle."_

 _Grant is quiet for a few heartbeats, because even though he doesn't understand her view of the world, he does respect it. "You and I see the world very differently_ _," he finally says_ _before getting up and moving towards the cargo bay. He almost misses it when she whispers, "You say that like it's a bad thing."_

 _The scene_ _changes, as dreams are prone to do, without thought or reason and suddenly Grant's sitting back in front of Skye, this time a game in between them. She's practically bouncing up and down in her chair after landing her third hit on his battleship. All the while, he's only got the 2-hit boat and he's still misfiring. He should change his tactic, try to make her nervous._

" _Every decision you make from here on out… has consequences. So be warned. The kiddie gloves are off." He tries to say it in his most menacing voice_ _but it's hard to do when fighting a smile. She almost looks like a kid on Christmas morning, so happy. Her eyes are shining with mirth, and he knows his attempt at intimidation failed. She pretends to think for a second before saying, "G7."_

 _Grant looks down at his board, which is just a stall tactic. He knows she's hit his boat for the 4_ _th_ _time. He grudgingly picks up a red peg and puts it in its place. "Hit."_

 _Skye pumps a fist in the air. "So, explain to me again what this has to do with my training?"_

 _Grant thinks for a while. Really, he just likes spending time with her, even if he has to lose at his favorite board game to do so. Also, he needs a little time away from the physical contact when they are combat training. It's getting harder and harder to keep from kissing her when she's pressed up close to him, and his self-control can only take so much. But he's not going to tell her that._

" _Well, it's important for every SO to… evaluate their students thought process." He finally says, before adding, "And I like board games. B10."_

 _She shakes her head, her eyes betraying the laugh she's keeping inside. "Nope. And, this isn't thinking. It's stabbing in the dark. But it's nice to take a break from the workouts."_

 _Grant's not sure if she needs the break for the same reasons as he does, but he can agree with the sentiment. His shoulders loosen a little. He's been trying very hard to keep the line between them professional and strictly SO-rookie, but the sternness of it weighs on him too. Normally_ _, he's a pretty laid back guy but he can't afford to be with her. Because he won't be able to keep his feelings back if he did. He's only human though_ _and sometimes he slips and shows more than he's comfortable with._

" _You deserve a break. I've got to give Coulson credit, I never would have pegged an ex-Rising Tide hacker as a good fit, but… you're picking things up pretty fast."_

 _She laughs at that, her voice sounding like bells tinkling in the wind. "Wow, a compliment. Those are few and far between. But thanks. And I don't want to ruin a great SO-rookie bonding moment here, but I'm going to have to respond with… G4."_

 _The small smile he's had on his face since he heard her laugh slips off. He really likes bonding with Skye, but he really hates lo_ _sing. She notices the tightness round his eyes and her smile grows even wider, her eyes sparkling with triumph. "Say it Garner… Say it."_

 _Grant huffs out a breath, "_ _You sunk my battleship"._

 _Suddenly Skye's not laughing anymore and a dark red stain is spreading steadily across her chest. There's blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. "You didn't save me Grant. You let me die. Why did you let me die."_

Grant bolts upright from the cot he was sleeping on, his breathing heavy and sweat dripping from his brow. It's been a while since he's had this nightmare, probably triggered by all the reminiscing he's been doing. He tries to keep the memories at bay when he's awake but even he can't control his subconscious. He hates the fact that his good memories get tainted by the picture of Skye bleeding out. Of Skye blaming him… Guilt really is the gift that keeps on giving.

It's a testament to how shaken up he is, because he doesn't even realize there's somebody in the room with him until the stranger shifts in his seat. Skye would probably tell him to get his Spidey-sense checked, because it's clearly on the fritz. On the other hand, if he'd stop constantly thinking about what Skye would do or say in any given situation, his _attention_ probably wouldn't be lacking.

He gets his breathing under control, closes his eyes and lets his senses take over. On the outside he's perfectly calm and still, but his inner self roams the room to find out what stranger is watching him so intensely. It's been a while since he's used his _gifts_ to read people, usually just using them to do a general body count and surroundings check. He hadn't needed to feel for aura's when he already knew the blacks, browns, and reds of his enemy. And he'd made a vow to his team to never read them without their permission.

Grant loses his composure briefly when he senses the yellows and blues that surround the other person. It's an aurahe knows really well, the combination of colors very distinctly Leo's. Grant's not overly concerned with the red that's tinging the edges, because there's orange there as well. Leo's angry, a feeling directed both outward and inward, but he's also curious. And a curious Leo is an open-minded Leo. Still, Grant's not going to be the first to speak, preferring to let Leo gather his thoughts first. Grant knows Leo will talk when he's ready.

It remains quiet for several more heartbeats before Grant hears a soft release of air.

"That looked like one hell of a nightmare." Leo's voice is a whisper, barely even loud enough to be heard over Grant's own heartbeat. But there's no malice in the words, no emotion inserted into them at all. It's just a clinical observation Leo's made.

"Nothing I'm not used to by now." Grant's reply is honest, because he'd never lie to his best friend, no matter what world he's from. He shifts his legs off the cot and turns around to fully face this world's Leopold Fitz. He can't really see his face, just a vague silhouette but it's all too familiar for Grant.

"I s'pose we've all got our own nightmares to deal with." The thick Scottish brogue makes Grant's heart squeeze, because it's so utterly Leo. The lights flicker on and Grant can now see the man who wears the face of his best friend. He looks almost exactly like the Leo he knows, down to the checkered shirt and cardigan. There are some small differences, his brownish-blonde hair is cut shorter, less curly and there's a stubble on his cheeks that's unfamiliar to Grant. He's not making eye contact with Grant, instead fixing his gaze on a point over Grant's left shoulder.

"I suppose we do," Grant replies truthfully. "Why are you here, Leo?"

The other man's eyes snap to his, and there's a strange sort of intensity in them. "I needed to see for myself."

"See what, exactly?"

"That you're not who we think you are. That you're not the monster who's hiding under the bed, the nightmare that _he_ is." There's fire in his voice and again Grant's struck by the level of betrayal they must all feel towards his mirror-self.

"And do you? See it?"

Leo sighs, "I don't know. I didn't see it before either, so I'm not sure what I thought this would accomplish." There's a hint of resignation and a lot of repressed anger in his tone and Grant can tell that this world's Leo isn't undamaged either. Maybe not as… _defeated_ as the Leo he knows, but not the carefree, monkey-loving sort-of-conspiracy theorist either.

They are staring at each other, each of them sizing the other up. Each of them trying to match the person they know with the person in front of them.

Leo drops his gaze to his tablet for a moment, his eyes turning sad and wistful. "They look like they're close friends," he says without looking up. Grant can only imagine what he's looking at, but he has a pretty good idea. His LDC was filled with memories and pictures. The ones Sk – Daisy confronted him with earlier were only a few. There were a lot of images of him throughout his life, everything important to him safely stored in a place where only he – and Leo – could reach them.

"We are." Grant replies, because he's not going to pretend he's not the one in the pictures. Those are his memories and he won't let anybody try to distance him from them.

"We've been through a lot, Leo and me. Saved each other's lives more than once. He was my best man, I'm sure there are pictures of that in there somewhere."

Leo only nods.

"Look, I know you don't believe me, but I'm sure you've done enough tests on me and my tech to not _not_ believe me either. I don't know how to explain how I got to be here, but if there's anybody who can figure it out, It's you Leo. Just… just keep an open mind, okay." There's a note of desperation in Grant's voice. Not only because the idea of spending the rest of his days in the cell isn't appealing to him at all, but because he's got this chance to reconnect with people he thought were lost to him forever. His mother, Coulson, Skye… they might not be the same people he remembers, but he's not going to waste the opportunity to get to know them. His dad would call it a prime chance to get insight in the nature vs. nurture debate, and a study in how people are formed by experiences. Grant would just call it a second chance, then again, his dad always was the more eloquent of the family.

The scientist gets up from his chair and Grant assumes he's done with this conversation. Even though it didn't last long, it was heavy with emotions. But Leo surprises him by coming closer to the invisible barrier between them. "Nobody ever calls me 'Leo'. It's Fitz most of the time, or you know, when Jemma gets annoyed she'll use the full name for effect. Never Leo though."

Grant's not sure there's a question in Leo's statement, but there's enough curiosity lacing his voice to make him reply anyway. "When I first met Jem and Leo, they were talking a mile a minute, not even noticing anything around them. I liked them instantly." Grant thinks back to that first meeting.

 _Grant's standing in the doorway, staring open-mouthed at the two people before him. The auburn haired girl sounds exasperated when she tells her companion off. Something about not being Hermione, whatever the hell that may be. It takes less than a second for the guy to respond to her_ _and the flurry of words coming from both their mouths is so fast, Grant almost feels like he's watching a tennis match. Luckily_ _, he's got the presence of mind not to turn his head between them, like a cartoon character. Still, he's never met two people so in sync with each other before, and he finds himself wondering if they maybe 'upgraded' themselves in some way. He's seen a lot since he graduated from the Academy and if the rumors about these two are true, they would certainly be capable of altering themselves._

 _They still haven't noticed him standing there, so wrapped up in a discussion Grant's not even sure is being held in English. He scrapes his throat a few times, but to no avail. It's like he's invisible or something. Finally, a little fed up about standing there being ignored, he drops his duffel to the floor. The heavy tactical gear inside it makes a satisfying 'thump' when it hits the metal._

 _Two heads shoot up at the sound simultaneously and it takes all his willpower not to smirk at the sight of that. He schools his features into a somewhat strict expression. "Fitzsimmons?" he asks, his voice betraying no hint of the amusement he's feeling._

 _There's a second of silence before the scientists speak up. It's like a routine they've got down to a T, when she points towards the sandy haired guy and says, "Fitz" followed by his "Simmons" in her direction. The guy – Fitz apparently – narrows his eyes at Grant, almost in a dare, before he seems to realize who Grant is._

" _Agent Garner, right?" he says while sticking out his hand to shake. "Coulson told us you'd be comin' 'round. I'll have yer comm system sorted out in no time." He turns towards his table and starts fussing with the communicator Grant gives him. The girl – Simmons – comes over and out of the blue shoots him up with something and he only gets a chance to blink once before he sort of crumbles in a heap._

 _When he wakes up again, he's a little sore and a lot pissed off but he doesn't get the chance to act on his feelings. Coulson and his mother appear in his field of vision with an easy smile on their face. "Welcome to the team. I'll let these two," Coulson points towards the two ambushing scientists, "explain the new comm system. Team meeting upstairs in an hour." He turns around, and after giving him a small encouraging smile, his mother follows. The scientist move closer again and he watches them wearily. "Sorry about that Agent Garner, the nano-bots take a little while to get used to," the girl says, "but you'll be fine in a few more moments. Would you like some water?" He shakes his head minutely, bigger movements don't seem all that possible at the moment._

" _Wha—," he starts to say but he gets cut off by the gangly engineer. "Yea_ _, sorry 'bout that, it's usually easier when you don't prepare for the injection." He bounces a little on the balls of his feet. "This is going to be so great! I mean, this plane alone is just… awesome!" There's awe in his voice and Grant sort of gets swept up in the younger man's appreciation for their new mobile command center. It really is a sight to behold, the outside matt_ _e black and impressive, while the inside is just the right combination of practical and high-tech._

" _So," Fitz intrudes his thoughts, "if we're going to spend god knows how long together, I think we should get to know each other…. How do you feel about monkeys?"_

 _Grant honestly doesn't know how to respond to that._

"Okay, I liked them at first, then I sort of resented them for being able to sneak up on me with sharp, pointy things. But then they started talking about the nano-tech and they were so… _good_." Grant shrugs, "I always use my friend's first names, last names are for subordinates, superiors and people I generally don't like." Grant gets up from the cot to move towards where Leo is standing. "I only use 'Fitz' to get his attention when he's gone off on a tangent."

Leo's lips curve up at that.

"And he calls me Grant, because he knows I'm not just my parent's son and a SHIELD legacy. He's got enough respect for me to value my for myself and my skill, not my last name."

"Ah yes, I saw the pictures. I can't believe you were raised by Agent May. Their relationship here must really freak you out then, I can't imagine what it would be like to find out your other self actually _slept_ with your mother. Talk about Oedip…-" he stops talking when he sees Grant's face. "Coulson didn't tell you?"

It's all Grant can do to get towards the little built in lavatory fast enough.


	7. Chapter Six: A Change Of Story

As he is kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, Grant can't help but wonder when his life turned into a badly written sci-fi show. A mix of Alias and Sliders, but without the late 90ies wardrobe. _Featuring Grant Garner, in the role of a lifetime, as the heroic Agent who gets transported through universes._ He groans and tries to swallow the bile that rises up again. Everything is turned upside-down and inside-out. Coulson is good, Skye is Daisy and… . He bends his head back over the bowl as the last remainder of his sandwich comes back up. He can't even think about it, yet all his mind does is supply him with the horrifying images. _Sleeping with his mother_. That's just…

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that this Melinda May is not his mother, and that Grand Ward was not raised by her, but he's not in the mood for rationalizations at the moment. All he wants at this time is bleach to pour in his ears and burn the images from his mind. He hopes there's no video… _please, God, let there not be video_. The idea alone that he might at one point stumble on real images like that… He realizes that the images his imagination is providing are probably much worse than the actual facts but that doesn't mean he needs to see the real thing either.

He can vaguely hear Leo make some sort of apology and scurry from the room, but it doesn't really penetrate the haze of thoughts and emotions churning in his head. He tries to drown out his imagination but every single memory he tries to recall is tainted by the information Leo shared with him. He is never going to be able to look at pictures of his mother and not see _that_. He'd give his right hand to go back into time 5 minutes and not hear that. Hell, he'd gladly go back to the point of his world's Coulson trying to kill him, if it would erase this knowledge from his mind.

He rinses out his mouth and splashes some water in his face before he moves back towards the cot. In his hurry to leave Leo didn't turn the lights out, and while Grant typically doesn't need complete darkness to sleep, he still feels like sleep might be a bad idea. His subconscious already had a tendency to mix memories with dreams and he wants to avoid the nightmares that will undoubtedly come from the info he got from Leo.

Grant settles his back against the wall, his legs crossed on top of the thin mattress. He hasn't _meditated_ since he lost Skye, but if he wants to get more rest without dealing with the dreams, this is his best option. He'd doubted the value at first, when Skye brought it up but he'd found use for it none the less. It might have had more to do with Skye than the actual meditating though. He closes his eyes and tries to push all thoughts from his mind, but the memories of Skye are too strong, and he feels himself being pulled into a memory before he has a chance to suppress it.

" _I think we should try it, at least." Skye shrugs her shoulders, "I mean, it couldn't hurt, right?" Grant feels a sigh threatening to come out and swallows it down. He's too tired and wired to get into a fight over something as stupid as meditation. And, really, it would probably do no real harm other than waste some time._

 _She knows him to well to be fooled by his silent resignation though, and he knows she knows why he's not responding. "Don't suppress the sigh on my account Grant. At least I'm trying to find a way for us to deal with this... thing. If we don't learn how to control it, it's going to get us and our entire team hurt, or worse!" He can see she's getting worked up, exactly what he was trying to avoid, but he should have known better than to assume she wouldn't pursue it. She was like a pitbull with a bone sometimes. And she was right, there were too many dangers out there to risk getting sidetracked with these… powers._

" _Last night, when we… I almost brought the roof down on top of us. And when I got upset with Jem the other day the whole lab shook like a quake was rolling through. What's going to happen when I get really angry, Grant? Or really happy? Or any kind of powerful emotion for that matter! I won't be the reason our team gets buried under piles of rubble because I couldn't find a way to control this crap."_

 _She moved closer to where he was leaning on the dresser, puts her hands on his shoulders. "If you space out during a mission…" she lets the rest of her sentence hang in the air between them. He knows what she's not saying though. If he spaces out during a mission, he could get somebody killed. He could get her killed._

 _His arms close around her waist as he pulls her into him, the thought of losing her because he's too scared to deal with his newfound powers… She feels his anxiety, like she always does, and her hands start tracing random patterns on his back. He drops his head on her shoulder and the tension slips away._

" _You're right," he finally says into her shirt. "We'll try it, it can't hurt. But we do it somewhere safe, away from triggers."_

 _He feels her head moving up and down, nodding her assent._

When he slips back into the present time, he finds a concerned looking Coulson standing in front of the barrier. It flashes and the older man walks into the cell and sits beside Grant on the bed.

A box of stomach relief medication is pushed in his direction, along with a bottle of water.

"So… Fitz was a little…," Coulson seems to weigh is words, "careless might not be the best word but…." He falls silent again, brushes some imaginary lint from his trousers. "It was not the way I intended you to find out. I'm not even sure if I'd have told you. But the cat's out of the proverbial bag and that's that. Just remember, his actions aren't yours."

Grant doesn't reply to that, preferring not to bring those images back to the forefront of his mind. Instead he moves on to another subject.

"I first met Phil Coulson when I was with the Garners for about a month. Mom had taken a few weeks off from work and she wouldn't take any calls from the office during that time." Grant starts, partly because he knows Coulson's come for information and partly because he needs to get the story out. No matter how much it hurts him to talk about it and remember it, keeping it locked inside isn't much better. Besides, if there's anybody alive who knows the feeling of being betrayed, it's Coulson and his team. If it keeps his mind from wandering to the _other thing_ he's learned today, he'd consider that a bonus.

"They needed her for something so they sent Phil to persuade her."

 _Grant moves closer towards the front door, hiding in the dining room behind the corner to the front hall. There's a man at the door, his brown hair a little windswept and his suit slightly wrinkled. The suit reminds Grant of his father, but the man's eyes are far more friendly than Mr. Ward's ever were. Behind the visitor, he can see a candy-apple red car in the driveway. It shines in the sun, and Grant can't help but be drawn towards it._

 _He doesn't realize he's moved into the hallway until the grown-ups stop talking. Mel tries to put herself between the visitor and Grant, but it's too late. The man drops onto his haunches and smiles at Grant._

" _Hi. I'm Phil, what's your name?" Grant's not sure what to do. He was never allowed to talk to strangers before, and even though Mel never explicitly forbade him to do so he's always kept to that rule. On the other hand, Mel seems to know this man and if he's not a stranger, it would be okay to talk, right? He looks up at Mel and sees something he can't name in her eyes. It's almost as if she's scared of something, but that's impossible because Mel isn't afraid of anything._

 _Grant takes a few hesitant steps towards the man – Phil – and looks him up and down. He's not totally sure why he does it, but he's seen his mot – Mel do it all the time when they're out._

" _Grant," he says, his voice a little shy._

 _Phil sticks out his hand towards him, "Nice to meet you Grant."_

 _Grant shakes Phil's hand, again moving a little closer towards the door. He can see the shiny car fully now, and it's even prettier than he imagined. Phil sees him staring at the car, and Grant can hear a soft chuckle from the man. "You like Lola?" he asks, while pointing at the car. Grant ponders the question for a moment, not quite understanding who 'Lola' is. When he sees Phil is definitely pointing towards the car, he nods solemnly._

" _Well, if you're good, and May here says it's okay, I'll take you for a drive sometime."_

 _The smile that spreads over Grant's face is enormous, and he has an ache in his jaw the rest of the day._

"Mom hadn't really told anybody why she was taking the leave, and since I was just staying with them at that time she wasn't really obligated to tell anybody. It wasn't until they officially adopted me that she told the higher-ups about me. I think she was afraid that they wouldn't allow her to adopt me. As far as I know, Phil never told anybody he'd met me before. And I did get that promised ride, and many others after that."

Coulson had remained silent during the story Grant was telling, but Grant could feel that the man had questions and observations. He pulls his knees up and drapes his arms across them. "You can ask, whatever it is you want to know."

The older man nods but stays silent a moment longer.

"How did you end up with May?" he finally asks.

Grant smiles a little. "Luck, destiny, karma? I don't really know. But the Wards died when I was 4. Some drunk driver crashed into them when they were on their way to some benefit or another. My big brother was with them. Both my 'parents'", Grant finger quotes that last word, "were killed instantly but my brother died on the way to the hospital."

He sighs. "I've never approved of people drinking and getting behind the wheel of a car, and I've never done it myself. But I can't help this feeling deep down, that the man who killed my parents, did me a favor that night. They weren't good people. They weren't even nice people, at least not to me. I really don't think they wanted any more children after my brother. You only need one heir after all, and he definitely got the royal treatment. If they could have gotten away with it, I'm sure they wouldn't even have bothered with a babysitter that night."

He can feel Coulson shift a little beside him, as if the man wanted to console Grant and then backtracked. Grant doesn't need consoling though, at least not in this part of his 'origin story'. This is the happy part, the part where he got a nice, kind and loving family and every chance in life. This part of the story was like the creamy filling inside an Oreo of suck.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." the man finally says, and Grant somehow just knows he's talking about the abusive parents and not the car crash.

Grant takes a sip from the water. "Anyway, I ended up with the grandmother I never even knew existed. She was my father's mother and they had had a falling out when he decided to marry my mother. Apparently, my Grams took an instant dislike to her and she didn't like the influence she had over my father. Honestly, I think he was as messed up as she was, but my Grams always stuck to her story."

Grant can hear the door to his basement cell open and close, but there's nobody coming down, so he dismisses it instantly. Probably some Agent checking if everything's okay down here.

"I moved into my Grams' house and she was amazing, the picture of a loving grandmother. But she was old and I was a very active 4-year-old, she just couldn't keep up.

 _Grant's playing kickball on the front drive, his ball repetitiously bouncing against the garage door and back towards him. He really likes this game, and he'd not been allowed to play it when he was with his parents. His Gram wasn't like that. In fact, she was adamant that Grant play and get dirty and have fun in the sun, stating that boys should be allowed to play when they were little, because life would be hard enough when they're grown._

 _She is watching him from the swinging bench that's suspended over the front porch, a pitcher of fresh lemonade beside her on the little table. Every time he kicks the ball a little too hard, she tells him to be careful, not to get to close to the street. But Grant likes kicking, and he loves running after the ball when it bounces back._

 _Then he kicks the ball, and it bounces of the garage door handle, straight up and over Grant's head. It rebounds a few times on the driveway, before rolling towards the street. Even though he's not allowed to, Grant moves closer towards the street to get his ball. The next thing he knows , a stranger's arms are wrapped tightly around him and he's been hoisted into the air. His ball has popped, a car is standing a few feet away from them, and his grandmother is crying._

"Melinda May saved my life that day. If she'd been a second later in pulling me back, I'd have been the popped one instead of that ball. She and Andrew lived 2 houses down from my Grams and she was just on a run. After that, she and Andrew became a regular fixture in my life, taking care of me when my Grams had to go somewhere. When she had a stroke, Mel and Andrew took me in temporarily."

"I'm guessing that turned permanent?" Coulson asks kindly.

Grand nods his head. "She died in the hospital 4 weeks later. It wasn't until Mel got a call from her attorney that she realized Grams had made her and Andrew my guardians. After a few months, they adopted me and I became Grant Garner just in time for my fifth birthday."

Grant falls silent, the memories of that time a little conflicted. On the one hand, he lost is grandmother, who he really loved. But what he got in her stead was a loving home, stability and a real family. Melinda May and Andrew Garner were his ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.

"What happened …" Coulson starts, but doesn't finish. Grant knows what he's asking though. What happened that made everything fall apart.

"When I was 26 we were attacked. An alien invasion of unseen proportions and irreparable destruction."

 _Alien forces keep pouring in through a massive black hole in the sky, and while the Avengers are awesome in their own right, they are simply outnumbered. Orders from Upstairs were to only engage with ground troops and get as many civilians as possible out of the line of fire._

 _Grant clicks another magazine clip into his gun and arms it. "CG, you and Tomahawk take the left flank, Tony and I will take the right. Truck, that leaves you and Jetson in the rear. We go in fast and hard, take out every hostile you see and please, for the love of god, don't shoot the hostages. Get them all rounded up and towards the 42_ _nd_ _street station. Once we've dropped off this batch, we move onto the next building. Are we clear?"_

 _The "yes sirs" sound all around and Grant's on the move without another word. The good thing about the fighting around the city, if that's ever a good thing, is that a detonation more or less won't raise an eyebrow._

 _Grant stops behind a turned over school bus and nods at his teammates, he taps his watch to set the time, 2 minutes. He makes the universal 'move' sign, and the team is off._

 _The street is mostly empty here, the aliens having rounded up all civilians inside the large office building. Grant makes his way towards the right side of the building, Tony in his wake. 30 seconds left. He attaches the C4 to a wall, sets the detonator for 28 seconds and moves towards the side._

 _Time seems to slow down while he waits for the charges to go off and he steels himself for the fight that is certainly coming._

 _5 seconds left, Grant pulls down his gas mask and prepares the two grenades._

 _Like the trained professionals they are, Grant and Tony move towards the newly created entrance simultaneously, throwing the grenades as they go._

 _Bullets and energy pulses alike start flying around, and Grant's pretty sure at least 3 of his bullets hit home. One of the aliens comes up beside him, and Grant clocks him in the chest with his fist. Going by the fact that the alien didn't even budge, and the instant pain shooting through his right hand, that was a bad move. The Chitauri lifts him up by his vest and smacks him into the wall behind him. Grant's dazed and before he has a chance to move, he hears the tell-tale sound of a pulse weapon being loaded._

 _Instead of the Chitauri shooting him though, he sees the metallic monster crumple to the ground, Tony standing behind him with that ever present smirk on his face and one of the alien blasters in his hands._

" _Dang, these things are_ cool! _" he says, while examining the weapon a little. He moves closer towards Grant and sticks out his hand, pulling Grant up._

 _They are on their 3_ _rd_ _building, when they hear a distant explosion and every Chitauri still standing suddenly drops. The quiet is eerie and slightly disorientating after all the chaos just seconds before and Grant's not really sure what's going to happen next._

" _All teams report back to base. I repeat, All teams report back to base." Grant looks up towards his team. "You heard dispatch, let's roll. Everybody accounted for?" Grant looks around at his team, all of them more or less in working condition. "Alright, let's go get patched up, shall we."_

"Turns out that not everybody came out of the fight unscathed. My uncle Phil had died on the Helicarrier and it turns out somebody in my team took a more serious hit than was obvious at first glance." Grant's eyes turn pained and sad, the loss he felt that day still palpable after so many years.

"While they figured Phil Coulson was worth saving that day, they didn't feel the same about a junior Agent who just graduated the Academy. No matter who he was related to."

Coulson looks pensive for a moment. "CG… your brother, right?"

The question throws Grant off for a second, before he remembers that Coulson has full access to his LDC. "His name was Cooper and he was only 20 when he died. Some sort of alien bug had infected his wounds, and while the wounds itself weren't serious, we just didn't have a cure for the infection."

There's compassion in Coulson's eyes when he looks at Grant. "I know the destruction that the invasion caused here, so when I say that I understand, and that I'm sorry for your loss, it's not an empty platitude. A lot of good people lost their lives because of Loki. It seems that he's a power hungry, whiny little wimp who hides behind those more powerful in other universes as well."

Grant nods. "Yeah. But he wasn't the biggest problem. Even though we took a hit in New York, most of the world recovered remarkably quickly. SHIELD wasn't in the shadows anymore, but people seemed to appreciate the help no matter what. The problem started with Phil's return from the dead."

"I don't know how exactly they did it, because he never told us. And those involved are long dead. He was acting weird but not evil in the first few months of our new assignment. Then he took a short leave and when he came back, he was different. Less human somehow. We just figured he'd discovered something about his resurrection he needed to come to terms with. When we found out what actually happened though…"

Coulson's hanging on his every word now, this being the part where his timeline starts shifting with the one from Grant's world in a major way.

"During his leave, he went to visit the 'Iliad'. It was a 'black ship', a cargo vessel that wasn't supposed to exist, and that only a handful of high ranking Agents knew about. After SHIELD fell we found out about the ship and went looking for it. Everybody on board was slaughtered, except for Bonnie and Mack."

"That would be Alphonso Mackenzie and… Barbara Morse, right?" Coulson asks.

Grant nods. "They had been on the lowest deck while the assault happened, locked in one of the engine rooms. When they finally managed to break out, the whole ship was dead and their cargo missing."

"Let me guess, an ancient alien monolith that sometimes turns into liquid." Coulson asks dryly.

Grant nods again. "There's a legend where I'm from about a God who was banished to another world because of his desire to overrule the other Gods. The story spoke of a transforming Portal only those who were worthy could enter. As far as we can tell, Coulson used the monolith to go to this other world. We don't know if the so called God took over Coulson's body, or is just pulling his strings from afar, but in the end it doesn't really matter."

"'Faulson' joined the secret HYDRA faction within SHIELD and a few months later they staged their coup. SHIELD fell and was discredited and disavowed by every government. Before we had any chance of regrouping and fighting back, Coulson had unleashed something he called Terrigen Mist and people started transforming or dying left and right. When the Mist cleared, Coulson had an army of people he called Inhumans, and we were all but defeated."

"My SHIELD now is reduced to a small underground rebel group, trying to fight Coulson and his IH army with the little of resources we have. We've been slowly losing ground to them for 3 years now, and despite us having a few gifted among us, we're no match to the sheer forces he commands."

The room falls silent once again, this time if not more comfortable, then at least less tense.

Then Coulson gets up and moves towards the staircase. "Get some rest Grant. You look like you just ran back-to-back marathons. I know this situation isn't ideal, but I'm working on changing that. Unfortunately, your… situation isn't the only thing that's on SHIELD's to-do-list at the moment and until we've resolved some of our other issues, this is the only place I can keep you that won't interfere with my people's job."

Grant sighs as Coulson turns the barrier back on and shifts down on the bed. No matter how badly he wants to stay awake and not have nightmares, he knows he needs to rest. He needs to keep his strength up because he will get out of this cell. And he will find a way to go back and help his team or die trying.

He ignores the little voice in the back of his head that's telling him he doesn't have to go back, that his world is lost and he might as well take the opportunity to start fresh.


End file.
